All The Things That You're Supposed To Feel
by picascribit
Summary: A series of missing scenes and canon interactions from Patrick's POV, chronicling his relationship with David throughout the series. Eventual M rating; currently rated T for language. CURRENT CHAPTER: Patrick meets Stevie for the first time, and is relieved to discover that they get along.
1. Just Pretentious Enough

Patrick Brewer smiled and shook his head. He had been smiling since he played back the first voicemail from David Rose. His amusement only increased with each rambling message, tangent, and explanation of David's plans for the General Store. Now four or five messages deep, Patrick could almost see David's facial expressions and hand gestures as he spoke. Their only meeting thus far had been brief, but David's vivid personality had left an impression on Patrick.

Schitt's Creek was full of colorful characters and odd personalities. When Patrick had arrived in the little town two weeks before, renting a room and office space from Ray Butani to set up shop as a freelance business consultant, his only thought had been to get away for a while, and have some space in which to clear his head. But the more he saw of the town and its inhabitants, the more he found he liked it here.

Patrick was grateful for the change of pace. For a while now, he had been feeling stifled in a way he could not articulate, not least because he did not understand it himself. He had tried to explain it to Rachel, when he broke off their engagement — again — but had not been able to find the words to express what he was feeling. She had seemed disappointed and resigned, but not devastated. This came as no real surprise, considering how many times they had broken up and gotten back together in the past. Still, she deserved an explanation. His vague discontentment was not her fault, after all.

There was no good reason for Patrick to feel dissatisfied with his life. He had grown up with a family who loved him. He had never suffered any real hardship or trauma. He had graduated near the top of his class from business school, allowing him to take his pick from a number of good, lucrative jobs. He had friends and hobbies he enjoyed. He was in good health. He had been in a fairly stable and comfortable relationship since high school with a woman whose company he enjoyed, and whom he cared for a great deal. A good life, all things considered. But Patrick could not shake the nagging sense that something was missing.

"_… So, anyway, for the name, I think I'm gonna go with 'Rose Apothecary'. Definitely. Almost 90% sure. Yeah. No. Yeah, Rose Apothecary. I just feel like it sets the right … mood for the experience I want to create for customers. Probably …._"

Patrick grinned.

He had overheard some members of the Town Council discussing the new management of the General Store when he stopped by the Town Hall to have some paperwork signed and filed a few days before. The mayor, Roland Schitt, was disappointed that something called Christmas World would not be moving into the space, but Councilwoman Ronnie Lee was of the opinion that the new proprietor would "class up the joint". Both had had much to say on the subject of David Rose, and his family more generally. Roland, in particular, was happy to share the exploits of the Roses at length and in detail. It seemed he knew the family well. Patrick had only believed about half of Roland's wild riches-to-rags, fish-out-of-water tales, but now that he had met David, he wondered how wide of the mark those stories actually were.

While Roland and Ronnie had painted David as someone who was all affectation and no substance, the longer Patrick listened to the messages on his voicemail, the more impressed he was with what he could piece together of David's business plan. It was a clever, creative idea that might actually work … if David could pull it off. It was clear to Patrick that there were some aspects of running a business that David had not considered, or only half thought through. Still, Patrick thought there might be enough information scattered throughout the messages to get started. He just needed to put it all in order, then see what, if anything, was missing.

Taking a new incorporation form out of a file drawer, Patrick put his phone on speaker, and returned to David's first message, chuckling.

"_Hi, David, it's Patrick …._"

* * *

Patrick was bent over a table, finishing up some paperwork, when he heard a soft, "Hi," behind him.

Looking up, he found David Rose standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Um … so I messed up my form. And I'm going to need another form from you," said David apologetically.

"Oh. OK."

Patrick could not hide a look of amusement as he glanced over the paper, with its many crossed out and messily overwritten fields, then looked up again at David, standing anxiously in front of him, seeming as if he did not quite know what to do with his hands.

"What?" said David, a little defensively.

"Nothing. I'm just so glad you made such good use of my business card. I'm sorry I didn't pick up; I was at a thing."

"Well, best you didn't."

"But I got all your messages," Patrick continued, going to his desk.

"Ah. And just listened to the first one, and then erased the rest?" David asked hopefully.

"No, I listened to all of them," Patrick informed him, feigning seriousness. "I kinda had to, to piece them together."

As David's look of dismay grew, Patrick could not resist teasing him a little.

"Actually," he continued, "I played them for a few friends of mine. I was at a birthday party, so there were a lot of people weighing in."

"OK, um …" stammered David, looking flustered.

"Just kidding," Patrick chuckled. "I didn't play them for anybody."

"I thought the first few were very humorous, David," Ray chimed in from the next room, "and then I lost interest."

David glanced back and forth between them, looking uncertain.

Patrick relented. "I may have played them here on speaker phone," he said apologetically.

"OK," said David. "Can I just get the paperwork, and then I can —"

"You know," Patrick interrupted him, "the good thing about the messages was that I was able to get enough information to fill out your forms."

He handed David the folder of completed paperwork.

"Oh!" said David, surprised. "I wish I could remember."

He opened the folder, glancing over the forms.

"It's a good idea, your business," Patrick told him. "Rebranding local products and crafts. It's very inventive."

"Thanks," said David hesitantly, as if unsure whether Patrick was still making fun of him.

"And I like the name," continued Patrick. "'Rose Apothecary'. It's just pretentious enough."

David's eyes narrowed. "Would we call that 'pretentious'? Or … 'timeless'?"

This drew another smile from Patrick. David's eccentricity and dramatic behavior might have been insufferable in someone whose feathers were less easily ruffled, but his flustered demeanor charmed and amused Patrick. His reaction to learning that Patrick had filled out the incorporation paperwork for him, and that Patrick liked his business plan, hinted that David was not used to people saying or doing nice things for him. Patrick thought that was a shame.

"So I'll call you when I hear something," Patrick told him. "And, hey, if I don't get ahold of you, I'll just … leave a message."

David grimaced at the gibe. "OK. Thanks."

"Ciao!" called Ray, from the next room.

David looked back and forth between them again, and left without responding.

Patrick chuckled, his amusement finally getting the better of him. "What do you think, Ray? Seems like a pretty solid business plan to me."

Ray shrugged. "I think a General Store has already failed in that location once this year."

"I dunno," said Patrick thoughtfully. "In the right hands, it could work. And it would be good for the town."

"Certainly. But you really think those hands are the right ones?"

Patrick smiled. "Oh, I think he might manage it. With a little help."


	2. Happy To Help

Patrick sealed the back if the frame and turned it over, gazing down at the Rose Apothecary business license with satisfaction. There was something exciting about the moment when a new business became official, especially a small business like this one, that Patrick loved being a part of. He felt rather like a midwife assisting in bringing a new life into the world, full of potential, with its whole future ahead of it. It was a shame he would probably not be in town long enough to see this one thrive and grow.

When approval for the license had come through a few days before, Patrick had called David to let him know, but had gotten his voicemail. He left a brief message, congratulating him and joking about leaving _only one_ message now, and _only one_ message later when the license was ready for pickup, but it was not as much fun to tease David when he could not see his reactions.

Patrick had thought about the General Store often since filing the incorporation paperwork two weeks before. When he stopped in at the Café Tropical for coffee each morning, his eyes were always drawn to the building across the street, curious about the progress being made behind all the _Closed_ signs. The façade of the store remained unchanged, and any activity within was difficult to discern. On the one occasion when Patrick and David's paths had crossed at the café, David had been too preoccupied to notice him, and had hurried out before Patrick could ask him how things were going.

Pushing the box of spare frames back onto a shelf, Patrick took out his phone and glanced down at it, then looked out the window thoughtfully. It was a nice day. He did not have anything pressing scheduled for the afternoon. Why not deliver the business license in person, and see for himself how things were coming along?

He poked his head into Ray's office. "I'm heading out for a bit. You have my number, if anyone's asking for me."

"Don't forget to pick up eggs on your way home," said Ray, without looking up. "I'm making us omelettes for dinner."

"We don't share groceries," Patrick reminded him. "And I've told you, you don't have to cook for me."

Ray gave him a vague wave. Patrick shook his head and went out.

It was a very pleasant day, with the warmth of spring in the air. As he turned his footsteps toward the center of town, the framed license tucked under his arm, Patrick felt his spirits lift. It was good to get out of the office. Although his current job did not pay as well as the one he had left behind, he liked the flexibility of it, which allowed him the freedom to decide what he wanted to do with his time from day to day — including dropping everything to go check out a new business on a whim.

The door of the General Store was not locked. Patrick let himself in, glancing around. David was nowhere in sight. A woman in her twenties stood amidst the piles of unopened and half-empty boxes.

"Wow," said Patrick. "Things are really coming together in here."

The woman turned toward him, smiling. "Oh! We're actually not open yet, but that's so sweet. Thank you. We have been working _very_ hard."

Patrick gave her a polite smile, wondering if she was David's girlfriend — or wife. He had subconsciously assumed that David was gay, based on his mannerisms, and silently chastised himself for stereotyping. Not every man who had flamboyant mannerisms was gay, just as not every gay man had flamboyant mannerisms.

"I'm actually not here to shop," Patrick informed her. "I'm Patrick. I'm just dropping off David's business license."

"Oh, isn't that the cutest thing! David's in the back, but I'm Alexis —" she indicated her necklace, which bore a large, gold letter A, "— and I'm currently studying business, and I'm David's sister and life-coach."

Patrick smiled. "It's great to meet you, Alexis."

When he went to shake her hand, she held onto his, smiling and stepping closer as she continued to talk animatedly. Now that he knew she and David were related, Patrick could see the resemblance; her face and body language were every bit as expressive as her brother's, but she had the self-confidence that David lacked, and was clearly much friendlier.

He realized with surprise that Alexis was flirting with him, and gave her a second look. She was very pretty - beautiful, even, if one's tastes ran to slender, fashionable young women with light, wavy hair, and wide blue eyes. She wore a short, dark blue, frilly dress that left her shoulders and long legs bare. Patrick awkwardly extracted his hand from her grip. It would not make a very good impression if David were to walk in and think that Patrick was hitting on his sister.

Alexis, however, was undeterred. Before Patrick knew what was happening, she had wound a crocheted scarf around his neck, standing very close to him — just as David entered from the back room.

"Um, that is actually cat hair," David informed him. "There's a Himalayan breeder up the street that knits them for us. Hi."

"Hi," said Patrick, smiling as he attempted to tug the scarf away from his neck. "I'm just dropping off your business license, and, uh, activating my allergies."

"Oh, in that case you should probably take that off," said David.

"Yeah …." Patrick hurried to disentangle himself from the scarf, as Alexis finally let go of it.

It quickly became apparent that David was in a foul mood. He criticized Patrick's choice of frame for the business license, and then lit into Alexis in what was clearly an ongoing argument over her sampling of store products. Patrick stepped away to give them some space, and picked up a bottle of hand soap, examining the label, and hoping his own feeble efforts to fend off Alexis's advances had not contributed to David's bad temper.

Glancing around, Patrick took in the boxes and boxes of products, stacked and scattered haphazardly around the store. He had no wish to add to David's stress, but it would be a shame if such a promising young business were to founder before it even had a chance to get off the ground, especially when it was clear that David had thrown his heart and soul, and most of his available capital, into the venture.

"There's a lot of stuff in here, David," he said hesitantly. "You don't want to spend too much money up front."

Alexis moved to stand beside Patrick. "Yeah, that is _not_ good, David."

"You have to be prepared to survive a full year without making any profit," Patrick added.

"Actually," said Alexis, "the textbooks now say eighteen months."

David glared at his sister. "Well, what are the textbooks saying about curating a selection of products from local vendors and selling them on consignment, in a one-stop-shop retail environment, that benefits both the vendor and the customer?"

"Well, I don't have my textbook on me," said Alexis defensively.

Patrick could not help smiling. "I stand corrected."

David hid an answering smile, turning away.

"Listen," said Patrick impulsively, "if you need help, I'm happy to help."

David, however, was still hung up on his sister's unhelpfulness. It did not improve matters when Alexis quickly co-opted Patrick's offer for herself, directing him to take over her own heavy lifting duties. Not wanting to contribute to anymore familial strife, Patrick did not argue, but hurried into the back room to hunt for the boxes of hand cream.

He spent the afternoon making himself useful, trying to take some of the pressure of setting up the store off David. At first, David was too busy being annoyed with Alexis to take much notice. Patrick privately sympathized. While he was intrigued to meet more of David's quirky family, Alexis was worse than no help. She got in the way, caused distractions, issued orders for tasks Patrick was already doing, and sometimes even countermanded David's expressed wishes. The best that could be said was that, when Patrick did not respond to her flirtation, eventually Alexis gave it up, and sat on a display table, swinging her feet and asking Patrick questions about himself, as he applied Rose Apothecary labels to a case of cobalt blue jars.

"After I graduated from business school, I started working at a business consultancy firm in my hometown," Patrick explained. "It's only recently that I've gone freelance."

"That's so interesting!" Alexis beamed enthusiastically. "I think freelance is really the best way to go. Having the freedom to develop your own ideas seems so much better than working for someone else who tries to tell you how you should do things. I'm thinking of starting my own consultancy or PR-type business, once I finish school."

"Good luck with that," said Patrick. "Being your own boss is harder than a lot of people think. What about you, David? What's your background?"

Halfway up a ladder, hanging a string of lights, David paused. "Um, I was a gallerist. In New York. Before we … came here."

Patrick was impressed. "Well, that explains your artistic eye."

"Yeah," said Alexis mischievously. "Too bad our parents paid for every one of those galleries, and probably every piece of art ever sold there."

David shot his sister a dirty look. "OK, that is _not_ my fault. I worked hard to make those galleries successful. _You_ never worked a day in your life, and I'm including today in that, if you're counting."

Alexis looked hurt. "I worked! I worked hard! I had my reality show, and my album, and my Instagram. And do you think it's _easy_ to sneak out of a sultan's palace and across a militarized international border, David? Anyway, you only wanted those galleries so you could meet hot artists."

"Um, that is so not true!" said David hotly. "I _care_ about art, and presentation. And if I dated some artists, that was just a bonus. A perk of the job."

"Oh, is that what you called that scruffy photographer who broke your heart?" teased Alexis, giving Patrick a conspiratorial look. "What was his name? Se-"

"Don't you dare say his name in my store!" snapped David. "I do _not_ need that kind of negative energy fucking with my creativity."

Alexis pressed her lips together, looking innocent. Patrick glanced back and forth between the siblings, eyebrows raised. This window into the history of the younger Roses was beginning to make the mayor's wild stories about the family sound more and more plausible. It also sounded as if Patrick's initial impression had been correct, after all: David did date men.

Catching Patrick's eye on him, David grimaced with embarrassment, and went back to hanging the lights. "I'm pretty sure my business consultant doesn't need to know about _all_ my past failures, Alexis," he grumbled.

"And _I'm_ pretty sure that this time you're going to be a success, David," said Alexis confidently. "With my help. For example, today I am lending much-needed moral support to Patrick, here." She patted his shoulder.

"Is that what you're calling it?" asked David sarcastically, giving her a withering look.

Patrick flashed Alexis an amused smile. "Thanks. You know, if you really want to help, I'd be happy for some water."

"The bathroom's just over there." She made a careless gesture.

"… or I could go get it myself," said Patrick, standing up. "Thanks."

"You're welcome!" beamed Alexis.

When Patrick returned a moment later, a paper cup in his hand, David was stringing lights in huffy silence, and Alexis was looking at her phone.

"So …" said Patrick, glancing up at David, "it must have been a big change, moving here after New York."

"Mm," said David.

"It was _so_ hard," effused Alexis, widening her eyes for emphasis. "Especially losing the jet."

"I can imagine," said Patrick, amused. He really couldn't, though. The luxury of a life that included private air travel, reality TV stardom, and galleries purchased by one's parents was beyond his comprehension.

Alexis hopped down from the table and put her phone in her purse. "I'm so sorry, David, Patrick, but I have to go. I have a lot of work I need to get done for class tomorrow. Will you guys be OK here without me?"

"Um, I'm sure we'll manage somehow," said David tartly.

Patrick chuckled. "It was nice to meet you, Alexis."

"Likewise!" Alexis said brightly. "I hope I'll be seeing you again soon."

She left the store, tossing Patrick a broad smile and a rather baffling wink.

"You don't have to stay," said David, as the door closed behind his sister.

Patrick knelt and returned to labeling jars. "I don't mind."

"Thanks," said David hesitantly.

"You know," said Patrick, "It's really great what you're doing here, David."

"Oh. Well, it just seemed like someone should do _something_ worthwhile with this space. The General Store didn't _have_ to be a disaster."

Patrick sat back on his heels, looking up at David. "I don't just mean that. I mean, your family coming here was a pretty big upheaval, from what I understand. Not everyone can bounce back from a thing like that. And now you're doing this. That's pretty amazing, if you ask me."

David tried not to smile, but he glowed with pleasure at the compliment. "Thanks," he said quietly. "I … um … I really appreciate you offering to help. You're a lot more help than Alexis. It seems like you really know what you're doing —" he glanced down, giving Patrick's outfit an unmistakeable look, "— in the business department, anyway."

Patrick chuckled. "Lucky for you. Not all of us had parents who could afford galleries."

"OK!" said David hotly, clutching the top of the ladder and glaring down at Patrick. "I'll have you know that _all_ of my gallery openings got _glowing_ reviews, and I'm almost sure that my parents didn't pay for all of them."

"I'll take your word for it," said Patrick, hiding a smile. "Anyway, what do I know? I don't think I've ever been to an art gallery."

David looked morally offended. "I don't even know what that means."

Soon, he was regaling Patrick with tales of his own gallery openings, as well as other memorable ones he had attended, expressive face alight with the telling, wide-banded silver rings flashing with each gesture. David's personality filled and lit up the room. Patrick found it nearly impossible to look away. He was so utterly enthralled and entertained that he forgot for a moment what he was meant to be doing, and merely sat on his heels, watching David talk.

" … and the 'multimedia' part of the exhibit turned out to be a _live skunk_! I've never seen an event end so fast, or so early."

Patrick laughed so hard his stomach hurt. "I wish I could've seen that!"

"I wish I hadn't," said David. "I had to throw out my favorite sweater that I got from a boutique in Berlin. Sometimes I think I can still smell it."

"Well, I hadn't wanted to say anything …" teased Patrick.

"It's not funny," David scowled. "I'm still in mourning for that outfit."

"No, of course not," said Patrick, chuckling as he imagined the look of horror on David's face when that particular "exhibit" in black and white had been revealed.

As Patrick finished labeling the last few jars, David climbed down the ladder and examined the drape of the light string critically.

"Does it look organic?" he asked.

Patrick stood up, tilting his head to consider the lights, unsure what "organic" meant in this context. "How are you going to plug them in?"

"Oh, _fuck_."

"We'll figure something out," said Patrick, swallowing another laugh.

He gave David a reassuring pat on the shoulder, noticing for the first time how tall he was.

David glanced at him, puzzled. "Um, you know, you really don't have to do any of this."

"I know," Patrick told him. "I want to."

"OK," said David, still looking confused, but also a tiny bit pleased. "Thank you, Patrick."


	3. Sensing A Vibe

Patrick closed his eyes and breathed in, letting the sense of calm enter through his lungs, quieting his mind and relaxing his body. The air smelled of greenery and unseen blossoms. A breeze rustled the leaves over his head. The air was warm, though the path was shaded.

He had done this hike a few times since moving to Schitt's Creek. Hiking cleared Patrick's head. There was nothing quite like being alone with his thoughts, letting his mind work through the problems and complexities of daily life, while his eyes took in the natural beauty of the world around him, and his body rose to the challenge of the climb.

Little of what weighed on Patrick's mind today had anything to do with the life he had left behind back home. Most of his thoughts were directly or indirectly related to Rose Apothecary, and the work it would take to make the nascent business a success. This puzzled Patrick. He had helped usher many small businesses into existence in the course of his career, but never before had he felt so invested in seeing one succeed. Just yesterday, Patrick had once again set aside all his other work for the afternoon to visit the store, and offer David his help. Only this time, Patrick's offer had extended beyond moving boxes and setting up displays; he had practically invited himself into a kind of business partnership with David.

What had he been thinking? He already had a job. He was not even planning to be in town for very long. What had made him think it was a good idea to go into business with a man he had just met — one who had no background in business? It was frankly absurd.

_You only promised to help him with the grant paperwork,_ he reminded himself. _Just help him get on his feet, and then you're free to move on to — whatever comes next._

In fact, Patrick had already filled out the paperwork as soon as he had returned to Ray's after talking to David. He had submitted it this morning. The only thing left was to wait for the money to come through.

Patrick climbed the trail, wondering what _did_ come next for him. In the weeks since he had been here, he had not so much as texted Rachel. She had texted once — a "thinking of you" message which invited, but did not demand, a reply. Patrick had not felt compelled to respond. He had nothing new to say to her, and was not yet ready to open himself up to being drawn back into the inevitable pattern of their relationship, whereby he returned to her every time he failed to find the unknown Something which kept driving him away.

He did not even feel like thinking about Rachel today. Instead, he thought about the store. It was really coming along. In the last two days, it had begun to look less like a storeroom full of boxes, and more like the stylish boutique it would soon be. Patrick had to admit that David had an eye for design and display. Whether the locals would decide to spend their money there, or continue to make the trip to the big box stores in Elmdale, was another question. David believed in the store, though, and Patrick admired his desire to bring something with a touch of class to the town of Schitt's Creek, and to support local vendors in the process. It was just a matter of making other people see the value in that.

Cresting the final rise and entering the clearing at the top of the bluff overlooking Elm Valley, Patrick smiled in satisfaction, recalling the expression of surprised gratitude on David's face, when he had made his offer to find him more startup money.

"Oh, I'm gonna get the money," Patrick had told him. There was no doubt in his mind that he would.

David had looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, fully realizing Patrick's use and value. It made Patrick feel good. He liked being useful. David needed a lot of help, if he was going to make his store a success, and it was the kind of help Patrick was very capable of providing. Why shouldn't he? It might mean taking another blow to his income for a time, if Patrick continued to funnel work hours away from his consultancy and into the store, but investing in Rose Apothecary, and in David Rose, felt like a worthwhile cause to Patrick. If that meant dipping into his savings, so be it.

He sat down at the edge of the bluff overlooking the valley, and breathed in the pleasant spring evening, feeling more contented than he had in some time.

Was this all Patrick had needed? A new project to get excited about and throw himself into? There were always new businesses starting up. There were always people with dreams and ideas putting their savings on the line for the hope of something new. Patrick had helped to usher a dozen or more small businesses into existence that year alone, and he had barely thought about them after the paperwork was finalized.

What was it that made Rose Apothecary so special? It was a good idea, certainly, but it was not a guaranteed success. It was a general store with a twist, opening in the same location where a general store had already failed once that year. The owner was not a businessman, but an artist and a dreamer, with more vision than practical knowledge.

In his pocket, Patrick's phone buzzed. He took it out and glanced at it. A notification for a new voicemail appeared on the screen. The call must have come through while he was out of his service area. Patrick pressed play, holding the phone to his ear. At the sound of David's voice, he smiled.

"_Hi, it's David. Um, I was just wondering … how much money are we talking about, for the grants? Because there are a couple more things I'd like to get for the store, and there's this other vendor I still want to talk to who does hemp-based products. Not, like, _hemp_ hemp, I don't mean, but, y'know … textiles and stuff. Although we could probably make good money selling the other kind. Um, not that I'm … into that … much. I'm not a druggie or anything like that. I can't believe I just used that word. Ugh. Anyway, if you really think you can get the money, let me know how much. There are definitely things I want to do with it. Like get some more non-cat hair-based inventory. If you're going to be hanging around the store, I want it to be a Patrick-friendly environment. So … yeah. Thanks again. See you later. OK, bye._"

Patrick returned the phone to his pocket, still smiling.

David was the thing that made Rose Apothecary different, Patrick realized. His passion and creativity had captivated Patrick, and his wit and self-consciousness had charmed him. The more time Patrick spent with David, the more he liked him. He liked teasing David and seeing his reactions to things. He liked the way David always tried not to smile, but everything he thought and felt showed on his face. He liked David's expressive hands and sharp sense of humor. He liked the way David responded to kindness and generosity with amazement and gratitude. He liked the way David made him feel useful and valued.

There was really only one possibility that explained all of it — the way Patrick had been feeling and acting over the last few days, his intense interest in Rose Apothecary and desire to see it succeed, his disinterest in the obvious flirtation of a beautiful woman, even his lackluster on-again, off-again relationship with Rachel — and Patrick finally let himself consider it, as he gazed out over the landscape in the golden late-afternoon light.

"Huh," he said thoughtfully.


	4. Not Here For Your Sister

On the day after his epiphany, Patrick did not visit Rose Apothecary. He got caught up on two days worth of paperwork that needed filing, and phone calls that needed returning, which had been piling up while he spent time at the store. He also needed some space to think, and to decide how he wanted to proceed, now that he thought he understood what was happening.

Patrick wished there were someone he could talk to. When he scrolled through his contacts, he saw friends from high school, friends from business school, friends from his old job; none of them bigots, Patrick felt sure, but all of them, as far as he knew, utterly straight. How could he explain his feelings to any of them in a way they would understand, when he was still figuring them out for himself? How could he explain _David_ to someone who had never met him? More than anything, Patrick wished he could talk to Rachel. She had been one of his closest friends for almost half his life, and knew him better than anyone else. But their shared history made that a much more complicated and delicate conversation, which Patrick felt nowhere near ready to have yet. So instead, he quietly considered his own feelings, with as much objectivity and logic as he could muster.

He liked David. More than liked. David was the key that had unlocked something inside Patrick, which he himself had not previously been aware of. Whenever he thought about David, Patrick felt a spark of warmth in his chest. He wanted to spend time with him, to get to know him better. That was reasonable. The impulse to spend every waking moment at the store, helping David set up his new business, simply for the joy of basking in the glow of David's company and gratitude, was probably not.

Patrick did not know what, if anything, he wanted to do about the feelings he was having, but he knew he was not ready for David to know yet — not while it was all still so new to Patrick. He would just have to do his best to keep things friendly and professional, treating David exactly as he had before his realization. Since that still meant spending time with David, teasing and joking with him, and helping him out at the store, Patrick did not feel like he was losing out in any way. He thought he could manage it.

It was not as easy as he had hoped. When he returned to the store the following afternoon, David looked up, giving him a smile and his usual soft "Hi", and Patrick narrowly avoided giving him a goofy grin in return.

He had a hard time maintaining conversation, keeping up the usual teasing banter. Everything either of them said felt subtly charged. Patrick caught himself more than once talking too fast and too high, as he often did when he was nervous, and made himself shut up. They worked mostly in silence after that, but Patrick was hyperaware of David as he went about the business of installing a set of shelves against a wall, and moving stacks of boxes. Fortunately, David was absorbed in his own work, stenciling a large black R A high on the wall opposite the counter, and did not seem to notice the lack of conversation.

With David's attention occupied, Patrick dared to watch him out of the corner of his eye, looking at him in the light of what he now knew.

David was tall. Patrick liked that. He wore baggy clothing that hid his body, but he had broad shoulders and big hands. Patrick liked those, too. David's hands were usually in motion, eloquently punctuating his speech, or fidgeting with something when he felt self-conscious. Now, however, as he focused on his task, David's touch was sure and careful. His face, too, was still, intent on his work. Often, David's face was doing something ridiculous, full of drama and wild reactions. In this rare quiet moment, Patrick was able to fully appreciate how good-looking David was.

That gave him pause. Patrick had never thought of himself as more than average-looking. Would someone who looked like David even notice someone who looked like him? There was no reason to assume David would be interested, even if Patrick decided he wanted that kind of attention from David. He already knew that David cared a lot about his own appearance, and about the way things looked in his store. If he cared as much about looks in other people, Patrick could not hope to measure up.

"Does this look all right?" asked David, as if he had read Patrick's mind. He eyed the stark black lettering critically.

Patrick dragged his gaze away from David's face to give the stencil a cursory glance. "Yeah. It looks fine."

"It's all level, and not blotchy anywhere?"

A smile tugged at the corner of Patrick's mouth as he answered truthfully, "Everything up there looks great."

Patrick noticed other things, too, as he moved around the store, putting things in their places. The display of cat hair scarves had been banished to the far corner of the store, rather than its former prominent placement near the entrance. When he opened the drawer behind the counter, Patrick found a bottle of over-the-counter antihistamines.

David appeared behind him from the back room, standing so close that Patrick's heart began to beat a little faster.

"Um, I got those in case you need them. Because of the cat hair."

"Thanks," said Patrick, keeping his eyes on the drawer.

"If there's anything else here that you're allergic to, just let me know and I'll keep it out of your way."

"Uh, nothing that I can think of," said Patrick hastily, closing the drawer and stepping out from behind the counter. He was touched by David's thoughtfulness, but unable to think clearly with David standing so near him.

Things became easier when Alexis arrived to "help" after school. Her presence irritated David, since keeping her on-task and stopping her from sampling every product in the store effectively prevented him from accomplishing much else, but Patrick found her a welcome relief. Her bright chatter made conversation easier, covering any awkwardness, and while she was still friendly and flirtatious, she was not as aggressively so as on the day Patrick had met her. When she teased David, Patrick playfully joined her, though he also tried to distract her with questions about her classes when it seemed like David had had enough.

By the end of the day, Patrick felt much more at ease. They had gotten some work done, David had not noticed anything unusual about Patrick's behavior, and Patrick had realized that it was possible for him to look at David and talk to him without getting tongue-tied.

All he had to do now was maintain the status quo. He could do this.


	5. He's A Monster

Patrick could tell something was wrong the moment he stepped into Rose Apothecary. At the sound of the door opening, David's shoulders hunched, and he spun around angrily.

"I _told_ you I don't want — oh, it's you." He clutched a large box to his chest. "Um, sorry. I thought you were my sister."

"Not last time I checked," said Patrick. "Everything all right?"

David scowled, dark brows drawing together. "Just not in the mood to see her right now. Or anyone else in my family, for that matter."

Patrick hesitated, unsure whether he should be involving himself in David's personal business. "Do you … want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"OK. Does that need to go somewhere?" asked Patrick, indicating the box in David's arms.

David looked down in confusion, as if he had forgotten he was holding it. "Oh … this goes … somewhere …" he mumbled, looking around.

Every surface in the store was covered in boxes and jumbled inventory. The formerly neat stacks of boxes were in disarray, their contents spilling out of them, as if a whirlwind had passed through the shop. Patrick took the box from David and set it on the floor.

"Moving some things around?" he asked mildly.

"It didn't look right," said David, gesturing wildly at the chaos. "I just — it wasn't good enough. It has to be _better_. Who's going to want to shop here if it's a giant fucking mess? That's why the last general store failed. This one is going to fail, too, if I don't get it _right_."

Patrick eyed David with concern. He had never seen him so tense and unsettled. "What do you need me to do?"

David pressed his hands to his face and breathed out heavily through his nose. "I … I don't know. Do something. Make it … make sense."

"OK." Patrick looked around. "Uh, what if we start by splitting up the main room into broad categories? Food, bath and body, homewares, clothing and textiles, that sort of thing?"

"Sure. OK. Whatever."

"So … let's start with the front of the store. What do we want people to see when they first come in? Food?"

"No, not food," snapped David. "Food goes over by the refrigerator with the perishables, obviously. Food with food. This isn't hard, Patrick."

"OK," soothed Patrick. "Um, I have another idea. How about before we get started, I go over to the café and get us something to drink?" He was not sure David needed the caffeine right now, but maybe taking a moment with a hot beverage would help him calm down.

"Yeah, OK." David moved distractedly around the store, picking things up and putting them down at random.

"What would you like?"

"Huh? Oh. A caramel macchiato, skim, two sweeteners, with cocoa powder," he rattled off quickly.

"Say again?"

David repeated his order impatiently as Patrick tried to commit it to memory.

"All right. Back in a minute."

Patrick hurried across the street to the Café Tropical, feeling as if he had caught some of David's agitation. He tapped his knuckles on the counter as he waited for Twyla to finish serving a customer.

"I need two coffees, please," he told her. "One regular, with cream and sugar, and one — uh …." He remembered caramel something and cocoa powder, but the rest of David's order had flown completely out of his head.

Twyla looked at him expectantly.

"Do you happen to know David Rose's usual order?" he asked at last, defeated.

Twyla gave him a bright smile. "Of course! He's _very_ particular about it. Try getting that one wrong four or five times; he'll make sure you remember it forever." She moved to the coffee station, chuckling.

A moment later, she was back.

"One regular coffee, cream and sugar, one caramel macchiato skim, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder."

Patrick breathed a sigh of relief. That sounded right. He asked Twyla to repeat it for him a couple of times, so he would not forget again. Once he could say it back to her, he paid for the drinks, dropping a sizable tip into the jar on the counter.

"Thanks, Twyla. You're a lifesaver."

"Aw, thank _you_, Patrick!"

He hurried back across the street, muttering David's order under his breath a few more times to make sure he had it.

David did not look up when the door opened. He knelt in the middle of the floor, head bowed over a box which lay on its side, hands clutched to his chest. A strong smell of honeysuckle hung in the air.

"David?"

"I dropped the fucking box." David's voice sounded tight.

Patrick set down the coffees on the counter and stepped around David, crouching down to help clean up the mess. Then he noticed the blood on David's hands.

"Are you all right?" Patrick asked, reaching for him without thinking.

"I'm fine. I'm great. I just cut my hand on one of the jars."

Gently taking David's hand in his, Patrick turned it over. Blood welled from a cut on the side of his palm, and dripped onto the floor.

Patrick sucked in a breath. "That looks pretty deep. Come to the bathroom; we'll get it cleaned up."

"I — um … I think I'll just stay here for a minute. I'm feeling a little … lightheaded," said David, not looking up.

"OK," said Patrick. "You stay here. I'll get you something to put on it."

He hurried to the bathroom, and grabbed a handful of paper towels, quickly soaking them in cold water, then returned to the shop floor. Kneeling beside David, he pressed the wet wad of paper to his hand.

"Hold that in place until the bleeding stops."

"Thanks," mumbled David, doing as Patrick directed him. "I don't want you thinking I'm squeamish about blood, or anything. It's just, when it's mine —"

Patrick smiled. "I understand. Are you all right now?"

"Not really. I was planning to get out of here early today, so I'd have time for a nice, relaxing panic attack this evening, but now I have to clean up this mess."

Patrick looked at David's downturned face, his tense shoulders, his tight jaw. "Not that I'm any judge of these things, but it kind of seems like you're having one right now."

"Uh … yeah, maybe."

"Any particular reason? Or just one of those things?"

David made a sound that was almost a laugh. "Oh, no reason; just that my parents have never taken the slightest interest in my life or my feelings."

"I know you said you didn't want to talk about it," said Patrick hesitantly, "but it doesn't seem like _not_ talking about it is helping. You want to tell me about it while I get this mess cleaned up?"

"Mm," said David.

Patrick was not certain if that was a _yes_ or a _no_, and he decided not to push. He went back to the bathroom to get some cleaning supplies, more wet towels, and a trash can, and brought them back to the shop floor. David now sat with his back against the counter, head tilted back, eyes closed. He looked very pale.

"It looks like only a few jars broke," Patrick told him. "That's good. We didn't lose much."

"Be careful," muttered David.

"I will," said Patrick, touched. "Thanks for your concern."

As Patrick carefully transferred pieces of broken glass coated with honeysuckle-scented cream into the trash, David took several slow, deep breaths, then said with forced calm, "My mother informed me this morning that she invited Sebastien fucking Raine to town to discuss a photoshoot."

"Oh?" said Patrick. "Should I know who that is?"

"He's a photographer who built his career out of using and manipulating people," said David, with more heat. "He's also my ex."

"Ah," said Patrick, keeping his eyes on his task, and his expression carefully neutral.

"My mother didn't even fucking remember that, though, or how badly it ended," David continued. "The way she tells it, he's a 'very dear friend' she met at a gallery once — _my_ gallery, but of course she doesn't remember _that_ either. She only ever remembers what's convenient for her. Alexis remembered, though," he added, scowling. "She thinks it's _hilarious_ that he's coming here. She lives for drama, as long as it's not _her_ drama."

"I'm sorry," said Patrick quietly.

David sighed and opened his eyes. He looked haunted. "You ever date someone who just … didn't care what you wanted? Like, they just saw any boundaries you tried to set as a challenge, or an inconvenience getting in the way of what they wanted?"

Something tightened inside Patrick's chest at the thought of someone casually violating David's boundaries. "Thankfully, no," he said, trying to keep his voice even.

"Lucky you," grimaced David. "I think he gets off on it. Making people uncomfortable. Seeing what he can get them to do. He flatters and bullshits and pushes until you barely know which way is up. Other people are just a means to an end for him, whether it's for personal satisfaction, or the next rung up in his career."

Patrick looked up, meeting David's eyes. "I can't imagine treating … anyone like that," he said with feeling.

David gave him a tight smile. "Yeah, well, you're a person. He's a monster."

The urge to touch David gripped Patrick — to comfort him in some small way. He wished there were some way to let David know, without giving himself away, that someone in his life cared about his feelings.

"Um, let's see how your hand is doing," he said, wiping his own hands clean, and reaching for David's again.

He took away the soggy paper towel and examined the cut. In his pocket, his phone buzzed quietly.

"Do you need to get that?" asked David.

Patrick shook his head. "If it's important, they'll leave a message. It looks like you've stopped bleeding. I don't think you'll need stitches."

He carefully wiped away any stray smears of blood from David's fingers and palm, very aware of the softness and warmth of his skin. Being this close to David, holding his hand and caring for him like this, made Patrick feel helpless and elated at the same time.

He cleared his throat, forcing down his chaotic feelings. "Um, do we have anything to put on it? A bandaid or something?"

David shook his head. "I don't think so."

"What about tape? We could just fold up a tissue and tape it in place, for now."

"Um, there's some packing tape in the back room, I think?"

Reluctantly letting go of David's hand, Patrick went to search the dimly lit back room. He returned a moment later with a tape dispenser and a box of tissues.

As he carefully folded a tissue and tore off a piece of tape the right size, Patrick asked, "So, do you think you'll see him at all while he's here? Your ex?"

David scowled. "I mean, probably. He'll know I'm here. I don't want him to think I'm hiding from him, or anything."

"You don't _have_ to talk to him," Patrick pointed out, keeping his eyes fixed on his work.

"I guess not." David gave a huff of humorless laughter. "It's not like I'm on speaking terms with anyone else I've slept with. Anyone except Stevie, that is."

Patrick turned David's hand over, and tried to apply the makeshift bandage, acutely aware that they were getting into some very personal territory. The tape refused to stick to David's skin. Patrick took another tissue from the box and began folding it for a second attempt.

"And Stevie is …?"

"Oh, she's just … this friend of mine. She owns the motel."

"Stevie's a woman?" asked Patrick in surprise, before he could stop himself. "Sorry. That's really none of my business."

David gave him a curious look. "Yeah. I date women, men … all kinds of people, really. I just never saw the point of limiting myself that way. I'm pansexual, if that means anything to you."

Patrick nodded, concentrating on wrapping a long piece of tape all the way around David's hand, to hold the tissue in place. What it meant to him was that, if he decided he wanted to pursue David, he might have more competition than he had previously supposed. Perhaps even the unknown Stevie. The more he examined his own feelings and thought about his history, the more Patrick had begun to realize that women had never truly been an option for him. He could not help feeling a little intimidated that, as far as David was concerned, Patrick represented only one option of many — assuming David considered him an option at all.

"I think that will hold, until you can find something better," said Patrick, letting go of David's hand with mild regret.

David flexed his fingers, testing the makeshift bandage.

"Thanks." He struggled awkwardly to his feet, looking suddenly self-conscious. "Um, so, I'm just realizing that it's not very professional of me to talk about my sexual history with my business consultant. That was probably way more information than you ever wanted to know about me, so … sorry about that."

"It's fine," Patrick assured him, also standing. His eyes fell on the now-cold coffees sitting on the counter, and he passed David's to him. "It seems like you needed someone to talk to. Are you OK now?"

"Better, anyway. Thank you, Patrick." David lowered his eyes shyly and wrapped his hands around the paper cup.

Warmth bloomed in Patrick's chest at the soft way David said his name. To cover his feelings, Patrick took his phone out of his pocket. There was a new voicemail notification. Patrick listened to the brief message, smiling broadly.

"One of the grants came through," he informed David.

"Oh! Um, how much is it for?"

"Fifteen thousand."

"Oh!" David looked momentarily stunned. "I should … um … there are things I need to get. And vendors …."

"Don't forget, you have an employee to pay now, too," Patrick reminded him.

"Right. Um, how much do you want?" asked David.

Patrick chuckled. "That's an interesting negotiation tactic, David. As your business consultant, I advise you to play a little hardball. Try to hang onto as much of that money as you can."

"Well, yeah," said David, "but you've done a lot. Without you, I wouldn't even have that money. At this point, you're more like a business partner than an employee. I don't know why you're doing any of this."

"Well, I wanted to," said Patrick, embarrassed. "I like … a lot of things about this store. I'd like to see you succeed."

David looked embarrassed, too, but also pleased. "So … how much?"

Patrick named a rate much lower than he usually charged for his services. He wondered if David would notice, and object, but David immediately agreed to the amount.

"I should finish getting this cleaned up," said Patrick, indicating the box of honeysuckle hand cream which still sat on the floor, "then we can work on putting the rest of this place back in order … partner."

David tried not to smile. "Um, sounds good to me … partner."

They worked for two more hours before Patrick insisted that David go home to get some rest, and find a proper bandage for his hand. As David locked up, Patrick leaned against the store front, hands in his pockets.

"Look," he said hesitantly, "I know it's none of my business, but you really don't have to talk to that guy, just because he's in town."

David straightened up, fiddling with the keys uncomfortably. "I know. I just don't want him thinking he can get to me."

Patrick's mouth tightened. "What he thinks doesn't matter. At all. Someone who would treat you that way doesn't deserve to have you twisting yourself up in knots over him. You deserve better than that."

David hid a smile. "You seem very sure about that."

An answering smile tugged at the corner of Patrick's mouth. "I am. Seriously, David, do whatever is best for _you_. That's the only real way to show him you don't care what he thinks. And … if you need someone to talk to, you have my number."

"OK," said David softly. "Thanks."

* * *

Patrick sat behind his desk at Ray's, staring down at the unsent text on his phone.

**_ Everything ok?_**

Today was the day Sebastien Raine was due to arrive in town. Patrick had never sent David a personal text before, nor had David ever sent him one. It felt like a significant step on the path of their growing friendship, or whatever this was, but perhaps at this point it was a natural step to take.

_You're overthinking this,_ he told himself.

He was worried about David, and wanted to make sure he was all right, which was a perfectly reasonable thing for him to want, after watching David have a panic attack over his ex's visit a few days before. If David was getting no sympathy from his family, he deserved at the very least to know that he had someone in his corner, even if that someone was only a concerned business associate.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out again slowly, he pressed _send_.

A moment later, his phone buzzed.

_ im fine  
__hes even worse that I remember if thats possible  
__hes like if the devil owned a camera and was a total douchebag_

Patrick frowned, his concern growing.

**_ You talked to him?_**

_ just for a minute  
__i was in the office talking to stevie when he came in  
__i kind of froze up_

**_ Is he at the motel now?_**

_ hes out with my mother planning their COLLABORATION  
__theyve been gone all afternoon_

**_ At least she's not meeting with him in your family's rooms._**

_ yeah  
__i guess_

Patrick hesitated, wondering where the line lay between a friendly offer of help and exposing his true feelings to David. It was getting harder to think about such things objectively.

If Patrick had not been sure of his feelings for David before, he was now. David's panic attack had drawn aside the curtain for a moment, and showed Patrick the deep vulnerability hidden beneath David's big personality and sarcastic remarks. He had been mistreated in the past, and he expected no different now. He needed steady, dependable people in his life, who had his back and treated him with care and kindness. That was something Patrick could do. Whatever else might happen, he wanted to be a force for good in David's life.

**_ Hey, _**he typed at last,**_ if you want to get out of there for a bit and take your mind off things, you're always welcome to come over.  
_****_I can't promise much in the way of entertainment, but I can try to be distracting._**

Several minutes passed as Patrick waited nervously for a reply, wondering whether the offer was a step too far. At last, another pair of messages buzzed into his phone in quick succession.

_ i have to go  
__my mother needs help with something_

**_ OK,_** replied Patrick, feeling let down.  
**_Don't let him get to you._**

He checked his phone several more times that evening, but no more messages came.


	6. I've Heard A Lot About You

_You're being ridiculous,_ Patrick told himself as he ambivalently eyed the dark-haired woman with her back turned to him through the windows of Rose Apothecary.

There was absolutely no reason for him to feel nervous about meeting Stevie. Except that David seemed extremely fond of Stevie. Except that David had slept with Stevie. Except that, for all Patrick knew, there was still something going on between them.

_Meeting her doesn't change anything,_ Patrick reminded himself. _It just gives you a better idea of where you stand._

Gathering his resolve, he marched up the steps, and pushed open the shop door.

" … no, you can't drink them," David was saying.

"Did you ask if you can drink it, too?" Patrick said.

"OK!" snapped David, not bothering with a greeting. "It says 'body milk' on the label!"

Patrick attempted a friendly smile at Stevie. "Y'know, I told David that the label was gonna be misleading, but he insisted." His nerves made the words come out in a rush, and he tried to make himself slow down. "What was it you said? 'Anyone with a … fiber of common sense would know that it's not actually _milk_'."

"What do we think body milk is, if not milk … for your body?" scowled David, gesturing at his own body.

Stevie gave Patrick a meaningful look, and a sarcastically whispered, "Exactly."

Patrick smiled. "Stevie, right?"

"Yeah."

Patrick was not sure what he had been expecting, but Stevie was not it. Her casual, dressed-down look and minimal attention paid to hair and makeup spoke of someone who cared little for fashion; a marked contrast to David's expensive, carefully-put-together looks. She had a firm handshake, a direct manner, and a dry, sarcastic way of speaking that denoted a wit quick enough to rival David's own.

"I'm Patrick. I've heard a lot about you." He glanced away awkwardly, hoping she would not guess what, exactly, he had heard.

"None of it is true," Stevie assured him quickly.

"Oh, well, anyone with a fiber of common sense would know that," Patrick rallied, falling back into his own teasing manner of speaking.

Stevie looked at David. "I like him," she said, sounding both surprised and impressed. She turned back to Patrick. "I like you."

Patrick smiled, relieved.

David was not pleased or impressed. "OK, is this how this is gonna go? Um, because we have way too much work to do today for me to feel attacked by way of an imbalanced social dynamic."

Patrick took a closer look at David, now able to take proper notice of him for the first time. He was wearing an odd combination of things on his head, covering his usually perfectly-coifed hair: a gray knitted hat from the store's inventory, over what appeared to be ….

"Are you wearing a shower cap?" Patrick asked in disbelief.

"Alexis has lice, and I'm taking preventative measures," David informed him.

"By wearing one of our hats, that we now can't sell," said Patrick.

He exchanged a glance with Stevie, who grinned.

"Oh, he doesn't have it," she said. "I checked his head. I think the shower cap is more of a fashion choice at this point."

"Uh-huh," said Patrick, turning back to David and trying to quickly call to mind everything he knew about how head lice were spread. "But you're still living with somebody who _does_ have lice, so just because you don't have it now doesn't mean that you couldn't get it tonight, or tomorrow, or whenever."

"It's almost as if you _want_ me to get the lice," said David tartly.

"I don't want you to get it, I just — I think you should be careful." Sudden inspiration struck Patrick. "You can crash at my place tonight, if you need to."

It was perfect, really. He had been wanting an opportunity to spend some time getting to know David outside work. The thought of David sharing his living space — and his bed — for a night or two, or however long it took to bring a lice outbreak under control, made Patrick's heart beat a little faster. Not that he thought anything would happen, or that he would try to make anything happen, but if something _did_ happen between them, or if they even just talked things over ….

This fantasy careened through Patrick's mind for approximately two seconds as David gave him a smile and a soft, "Thank you." Then David continued, "But Stevie offered her place this morning. So …."

"Oh," said Patrick, feeling deflated.

David would rather stay the night with Stevie. It was the second time he had blown off or turned down such an offer from Patrick. That seemed to answer all of his questions. He tried not to think about David and Stevie cozily snuggling in her bed, maybe doing other things that they had done before.

"Can _I_ crash at your place?" asked Stevie.

That startled a laugh from Patrick, and he gave her a grateful look. Maybe he was just overthinking things again, and worrying about nothing.

"This is really fun for me," muttered David. "I'm having a lot of fun."

"Well, you know I make it my life's work to keep you entertained," said Stevie, giving him a wry look.

Patrick glanced around the store. "So, you said there's a lot to do today. Where should we start?"

"We need to get this place looking like a store where people might actually want to shop," said David. "We're only a couple of weeks from opening, and this place looks like a hoarder's living room."

"Cat hair, and all," grinned Patrick.

David tried not to smile. "Yes, well … let's get some displays organized. All the boxes should be in the right places, at least. Don't let Patrick touch the cat hair products."

"What if I'm allergic to cats, too?" asked Stevie innocently.

David gave her a withering look. "Um, maybe don't be?" He turned and stalked away into the back room.

Stevie gave Patrick an amused look, and they got to work, opening boxes and arranging products on shelves and tables.

"How many different kinds of products do people need to put on their faces?" Stevie wondered out loud, looking at the label on a small amber glass jar.

Patrick shrugged. "I dunno. I've been trying to talk David into stocking some more everyday items, but he says they're not 'on-brand'."

"Well, you know what he's like," said Stevie indulgently.

"Oh, I'm learning, for sure," said Patrick with a smile. "I just don't want people to be commenting a few months from now about what a shame it is that this beautifully-branded store went out of business because people can't wash their dishes with an aesthetic. No one wants to drive all the way to Elmdale for necessities, and if they're in here all the time, they'll buy more of all this other stuff, too. We don't have to put the necessities out on the floor, but we should at least have them in stock, if people ask."

"I'd definitely prefer to shop here, rather than driving to Elmdale," said Stevie. "I'll work on him a little."

Patrick glanced at her. "Thanks."

"What?" said Stevie with a faux-grumpy look. "I want to see him succeed. If for no other reason than, if this all comes apart, I'm the one who'll have to deal with him."

Patrick hesitated, then risked a personal question. "So, are you and he …?"

"No!" Stevie's eyes widened emphatically. "Did he tell you …?"

"Um, he might have mentioned that you may have, at one point …." Patrick trailed off, embarrassed.

"Yeah, well, that didn't work out. And it was a long time ago." Stevie cocked her head, looking at Patrick speculatively.

Patrick suddenly realized that his question might have been misleading. "I-I'm not hitting on you," he said quickly. "I just … wondered."

Stevie bit back a smile. "You really know how to charm a girl. If you keep it up, you're gonna make me blush."

Patrick chuckled. "Well, we can't have that."

"No, of course not," said Stevie, giving him a sly look. "You seem like a pretty together guy."

"I'm good at putting up a front."

"I bet you have a savings account and a good credit score and everything."

Patrick shrugged, amused. "If that's your definition of 'together', then yeah."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

He nearly fumbled the glass jar he was holding. "Uh … no. Not at the moment."

"Relax," giggled Stevie. "I'm not hitting on you, either."

"Just naturally … inquisitive?" asked Patrick.

"Thanks for not saying 'nosy'," Stevie said drily. "I just have a friend who might be in the market for a nice, level-headed guy who has his shit together."

Patrick stilled, not meeting her eyes. Did she mean David? Had she guessed, somehow? But no; Stevie was probably referring to a female friend.

"I'm … not sure if I'm ready to put myself out there just now," Patrick said carefully. "Things are so crazy with the store, and all …."

She nodded, sympathetic. "I get that."

For an impulsive instant, Patrick thought about confessing to Stevie, hoping that she would tell David what he could not bring himself to. He realized immediately how juvenile that plan was. If he wanted to pursue David, he needed to do it honestly and straightforwardly, like an adult, not like some thirteen-year-old with a crush, passing notes in class.

He cleared his throat. "Maybe I'll think about dating once we get past the store opening, and things settle down a bit."

"Yeah," said Stevie.

David returned from the back room, carrying a precariously-balanced stack of boxes. Patrick jumped up to relieve him of part of the stack before it could topple over.

"I'm gonna need a lot less talking, and a lot more working," David informed them. "The last thing I need is the two of you conspiring behind my back."

"What, exactly, would we be conspiring about?" asked Patrick, amused, as he set the boxes on the counter.

"How should I know?" said David, grimacing. "It's behind my back."

Stevie came over to stand beside Patrick. "He's found us out," she said, taking Patrick's hand and lacing her fingers through his. "It's true, David. Patrick proposed. We're planning a July wedding. If you're very, very good, we might even invite you."

David looked back and forth between them. "I see. So this is just how it's going to be now. I should never have left you two alone together."

"You'd think he didn't want us to get along," said Stevie mournfully, resting her head on Patrick's shoulder.

Patrick's amusement nearly got away from him. "It almost seems like he's jealous."

"Kind of," Stevie agreed. "Or maybe he's just worried I'll tell you all of his deep, dark secrets."

"Oh, I don't know," said Patrick, giving David a smile. "I've already heard some of his stories, and he hasn't managed to scare me off yet."

David tried to hide a smile in return, as Patrick let go of Stevie's hand and stepped toward him, resting his hands lightly on David's shoulders.

"David, you have nothing to worry about," said Patrick, ignoring the tingling electricity in his fingers, and the excitement that came from standing so close to David. "I promise not to run off and start a business with Stevie instead."

"Thanks," said David quietly, looking as if his own amusement was about to get the better of him. "That's very reassuring, Patrick."

"Although," Patrick continued, turning back toward Stevie with mock-thoughtfulness, "she did make some very compelling points about the merits of stocking everyday items, in order to draw in customers on a regular basis. It seemed like a very sound business plan to me."

"OK!" exclaimed David, rolling his eyes and putting up his hands in surrender. "Fine. All right. We can stock your cleaning sprays, and tooth brushes, and —" he shuddered, "— _toilet paper_. But you have to order them. I'm not touching them, and they're not going out on the main floor."

"Done," agreed Patrick. He and Stevie flashed each other matching triumphant grins.

"Now, if you're quite finished congratulating each other on your masterful coup," David continued, "we clearly need to have a talk about what makes an aesthetically pleasing display."

Patrick eyed the groupings of products he and Stevie had set out on the shelves and counters. "What's wrong with them?"

David gave him a look of disbelief, waving his hands at the displays. "They're all … symmetrical. Geometric. They need to look more organic!"

"So," said Stevie, frowning, "you want them to look like they … just … grew there?"

"Yes! Yes, that's it exactly!" declared David. He shifted a few items around. "Like this. Try to make it look like you took an art class at some point in your lives."

Patrick could not help chuckling. David being David was always a delight to watch. The more Davidy he got, the more Patrick enjoyed him. The shower cap, still peeking out from under the knitted woolen hat, was the icing on the metaphorical cake: David might desperately try to appear cool and fashionable, but just beneath the surface, he was an awkward, chaotic mess.

"Um, is something funny?" asked David, raising his perfect dark eyebrows.

"Oh, no," said Patrick, not even bothering to hide his grin. "It's just kind of hard to take this 'man of impeccable taste' routine seriously when you're still wearing that thing on your head."

David's jaw dropped. He snatched the cap off his head, and stalked away in a huff to the bathroom, fluffing his disheveled hair.

Stevie burst out laughing. "Oh, I _definitely_ like you," she said.

"I'm honored," said Patrick, grinning. "I like you, too."


	7. Too Much Work To Do

Patrick sat behind his desk at Ray's, chin resting in his hand, eyes unfocused, pen hovering over a half-completed form. Try as he might, his mind would not focus on his work. His thoughts kept drifting back to David. Sometimes to Rose Apothecary and the work that still needed to be done before opening, but mostly to David.

David, trying not to smile, and saying something in the soft voice that always gave Patrick a fluttery feeling in his chest. David, glaring at Patrick and Stevie, a shower cap peeking out from under the gray knit cap that he wore. David, face intent as he focused on a task, lower lip caught between his teeth. David in a soft sweater, gesturing about something, cuffs falling halfway over his hands. David's vaguely smoky-scented cologne that always made Patrick want to bury his nose in his neck. David, sitting on the floor of the shop with his back against the counter, his hand in Patrick's, trying to calm himself from a panic attack.

Patrick shook himself and frowned down at the form in front of him, trying to remember what it was for. Something to do with insurance. That reminded him …. He took out his phone and texted David.

**_ Have you sent in the insurance forms yet?  
_****_If not, they're in the drawer under the counter.  
_****_They need to be filled out ASAP._**

A moment later, his phone buzzed with a reply.

_ i thought you were taking care of that_

**_ The lease and the license are both in your name,_** Patrick reminded him.  
**_They need your information._**

_ you know im terrible with that sort of thing  
__any way i can convince you to do it for me_ 😏

Patrick's fingers hesitated over his phone. Was David flirting with him? It was not the first time Patrick had wondered. Sometimes, there was something in the way David looked at him that half convinced Patrick that his interest was returned. Other times, he was sure David saw him as nothing more than a business associate with whom he was on friendly terms. Maybe vaguely flirtatious texts like this one were just another case of David being David. For all he was usually so easy to read, in this one respect, it was impossible for Patrick to judge David's motivations. He wanted the answer to be "yes" too badly to consider the matter objectively.

At last he typed, **_Do as much of it as you can, and I'll take a look at it later._**

_ my hero, _David replied.

Patrick put the phone and the warm feeling in his chest aside with a sigh. He needed to get some work done. With renewed resolve, he turned back to the half-finished form in front of him. He had managed to fill in two more fields, when Ray stuck his head through the doorway.

"Oh. You're here," said Ray.

"Yeah," said Patrick. "Just getting caught up on some work."

"I wasn't sure if you worked here anymore," said Ray blithely. "You're always at that store."

"Well, we're getting close to opening," Patrick told him, a touch defensively. "There's a lot that needs to be done."

Ray shook his head. "I don't know why you're wasting your time on that. A smart young man like you could put his talents to much better use. I've been thinking about branching out into a number of new services. You could —"

Patrick cleared his throat. "Thanks, Ray. But I just want to focus on the store right now. I have a good feeling about it. For the town."

"If you say so," said Ray with a shrug. "I don't really care. I just need to know if you're still going to need this office space."

Patrick looked down at his desk, at the neat stacks of multi-colored folders on either side of him. Even working as a business consultant part time, as he had been doing for the last few weeks, he made more money than David could afford to pay him. Was he prepared to give that up, just for the sake of spending more time helping David, and being near him? If Patrick chose to commit himself to Rose Apothecary full time, would that mean also deciding to commit himself to pursuing the possibility of a relationship with David? Would it be worth it, if it turned out that David did not return his interest?

"Let me think about it, Ray," he said. "I'll let you know soon."

"OK," said Ray cheerfully. "I'll remind you again later."

"Thanks."

Patrick looked back down at the form in front of him, reviewing the information on it to find his place again. His gaze snagged on one of the fields. It said "David". It was not supposed to say "David". With a sigh, Patrick pushed the form away from him. He could redo it later. It was clear that he was not in a frame of mind to focus on mundane tasks right now.

He looked up at the clock on the opposite wall. It was after three. He could go to the store for a few hours, but David would not be there. He was out for the afternoon, meeting with a vendor.

Feeling restless, Patrick got up and climbed the stairs to his rented room.

He had never realized what a powerful force infatuation could be, never having experienced the full weight of it before. It took up an inordinate amount of space inside him, crowding out all other thoughts. Patrick found it impossible to think clearly or objectively about the situation with David. He felt like a teenager with a hopeless crush — only he could not recall ever having felt this way as a teenager. He wanted to do rash, impulsive things, but the logical part of his brain told him that he should not act on his impulses unless and until he was sure that David returned his feelings.

Patrick had gone hiking again the previous afternoon, hoping that the exercise and the peace of being alone outdoors would help him sort through the maelstrom of feelings whirling inside him, but it had done little good. Still, he had another emotional outlet he had not yet tried. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, Patrick slid the battered guitar case out from under it.

He had not played in weeks. Between work and the store, he had been far too busy. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Patrick settled the guitar in his arms and plucked at the strings, adjusting the pegs to bring it in tune. Satisfied, he strummed a few chords, then flipped open his notebook to a blank page. The song did not need to be good. Patrick had no intention of ever playing it for David, or anyone else. It just needed to adequately capture his feelings in the moment. Once those feelings were laid out on the page, perhaps they would take up less space in his head.

Closing his eyes, Patrick took a few slow, deep breaths, and picked through some chord progressions, trying to find a starting point that felt right. There. That was it.

"_Dunno how it happened,_" he crooned softly, "_how I missed the truth before._" He paused for a moment, then went on, "_Since the day I met you, can't hide from myself anymore._"

He scribbled the words down in pencil, along with some chord notations, then changed his mind, scratched out the chords, and wrote in different ones. Once he was satisfied with the first verse, and the general shape of the melody, he continued, writing haltingly, _Lost adrift and wandering, I wasn't looking for a star, but you shone so bright above me; lift me up to where you are._ The last verse came a little easier: _Show me what I've been missing, show me what's in your heart. Someday maybe you'll see me shine, but I don't know where to start._

Patrick looked the song over critically. It was not the best thing he had ever written, but it was short and simple and captured some of the yearning he felt. Perhaps he would work on it a bit more later. He scrawled the words _Guiding Star — for D.R_. at the top of the page.

Looking at the song again, Patrick realized this was the first concrete evidence of his feelings for David — and of his own newly-realized sexuality — to exist outside his own head. For better or worse, he had let it out into the world; a clue someone might find and use to divine something about him that he had never spoken aloud, or told another person.

Patrick thought about this for a moment, then, in the quiet of his room, he said out loud, for the first time, "I'm gay. And I have a gigantic crush on David Rose."

He felt a little foolish, but also a little better for having said it, even if it was only to himself.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Patrick jumped. Fumbling it out, he glanced at the screen, then answered the call.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, Sweetheart. I'm so glad I finally caught you!"

"Sorry," said Patrick. "I know I haven't called in a while. I've just been really busy lately."

"The store, right? How's that going?"

"It's great. We're getting pretty close to opening."

"That's wonderful. Your dad and I are really excited for you. I hope we'll get to see this famous store someday soon. What's it called, again?"

"Rose Apothecary." Patrick felt his pulse quicken. "Rose is — it's David's last name."

It was not the first time he had mentioned David to his parents, but it still felt strange. There was so much he was not saying when he told them about David that he almost wondered if they could sense it. He supposed he would tell his parents someday, if it became relevant or necessary, but he did not feel ready to have that conversation with them yet, especially not over the phone.

"Well, it sounds delightful," said his mother.

"So, what have you and Dad been up to?" Patrick asked.

"Oh, you know; same old, same old. I've been getting some work in on the garden." She hesitated, then said, "I saw Rachel the other day. She asked about you."

Patrick swallowed. "Did you tell her where I am?"

"You asked me not to," his mother reminded him. "I told her you're doing fine. Have you really not spoken to her at all?"

"I've been busy," said Patrick uncomfortably.

"She misses you."

"Well, that's … not … something I can help her with," Patrick mumbled.

His mother sighed, and Patrick could hear her disappointment. "Are you seeing anyone there? Making new friends?"

"I'm not seeing anyone right now, Mom. I've been —"

"— too busy, huh?" she finished for him.

They both chuckled.

"I hope you're not working yourself too hard," she continued. "Don't forget to relax now and then."

"I won't, Mom. I was just working on a song when you called."

"Well, that's nice. I'd love to hear it sometime."

"Yeah …" said Patrick.

"Your dad wants to talk to you."

"Put him on."

His father, too, asked him about the store, and Patrick explained the business model to him again.

"I've never known you to jump into anything like this before," his father commented. "That store must really be something."

"Yeah, it really is." Patrick hesitated, then said, "Hey, Dad, can I ask you something?"

His father chuckled. "You can ask me anything anytime, Son. Not that I expect you to listen to anything your old man has to say."

"I'm just — I'm thinking of putting business consultation on hold for a while, and going full time with the store. It wouldn't be as much money, but I-I think I want to do it anyway."

"Well," said his father slowly, "I'm not a businessman, myself, but if you're asking my advice, I'd say that there are other considerations in life besides money. There's personal satisfaction. There's being part of something you believe in. There's being passionate about something. If this is something you want to do, then you should do it. If it doesn't work out, then at least you tried, right? I know you, Son. You're smart and you're capable. Whatever happens, you'll be OK."

Patrick let out the breath he was holding. "Thanks, Dad."

"Glad to help. Assuming, that helps."

"It does. Really."

"I should let you go, Son. Love you. Don't forget to call and let us know how the grand opening goes."

"I won't," he promised. "Love you, too. And Mom."

After he hung up the phone, Patrick lay back on his bed, guitar cradled against his chest, idly strumming. He knew his father was right; if he wanted something, he had to try at least, or he would always regret it. What Patrick wanted was David. That much was plain. He did not have the first clue how to go about letting David know how he felt, but he knew he had to do something.

Without any warning, Patrick's door opened.

"I heard you playing your guitar," said Ray. "I thought maybe we could jam together?" He held up a set of bongo drums, looking hopeful.

Patrick sat up, exasperated. "I'm not really in the mood, Ray. And I'd appreciate it if you'd knock before coming in. As I've mentioned before."

"You're dressed, this time," Ray pointed out.

"Yes," said Patrick. "This time, I am."

"I just thought I would ask," said Ray. "It can be fun to have someone to play with. Door open, or door closed?"

"_Closed_," said Patrick, between gritted teeth.

"All right." Ray stepped back into the hall, seeming not at all put out by Patrick's annoyance.

"Just a second, Ray," said Patrick, before the door closed.

Ray stuck his head back in. "Yes?"

"I've decided," Patrick informed him. "I won't be needing the office space after the end of the month. I'll be working full time at Rose Apothecary."


End file.
